


Drown

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Aquaphobia, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, Other, Phobias, Self-Harm, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:52:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You ready, kadan?”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘course I am,” I say, though it comes out as if my mouth were full of cotton. My eyes wander to where the rift is and my chest tightens even more.</p><p>I can do this. I just have to go out there, kill demons, and close the rift.</p><p>Easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme fill. Prompt can be found [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13890.html?thread=56616002#t56616002).
> 
>  **Heavy trigger warning** for self-harm and eating disorders.

Iron Bull lets out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a spot for a rift to show up.”

He’s looking out into Lake Calenhad, Redcliffe Castle barely visible on the distant shore across the glittering water. Not too far out—the water couldn’t be more than ten feet deep at that point—a rift crackles underwater, the tips of its sickly green crystals occasionally breaching the placid surface.

“Let’s not and say we did,” I say. I poke at the sand in front of me uncomfortably with my toes, having abandoned my boots earlier at camp now that we’re out of the Frostbacks.

Dorian _tuts_ at me and I resist the urge to glare at him. “The fishermen and farmers have been complaining about this rift for weeks. If we don’t close this one soon, who knows what will happen? We might end up with possessed fish trying to kill people.”

Varric snorts at that, but Cassandra frowns. “I’m not sure how much I could help with this one,” she says. “My armor would drown me.”

“We can work with this,” Bull says. “Dorian and Varric stay on the shore, attacking from a distance. Cyrnarel and I swim out and pull them towards shallow water. Cassandra, you stay in the shallows the whole time. Dorian, fire is useless and lightning will just hurt us, so don’t use those unless they get on shore.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the mage says, sighing dramatically. “Ice and protection, got it.”

I can hear Cassandra thinking even as she turns from me and Bull to look at the lake. “It’s an alright strategy.” She sounds doubtful, but I know she trusts Bull.

“On we go, then,” Bull says, a smile in his voice. The water might be a pain for him, and he hates demons, but he loves a challenging fight. He pulls the greataxe from his back. “You ready, kadan?”

“Yeah, ‘course I am,” I say, though it comes out as if my mouth were full of cotton. My eyes wander to where the rift is and my chest tightens even more.

I can do this. I just have to go out there, kill demons, and close the rift. I can swim just fine; was taught as a child. I can close rifts easily now. There haven’t even been any despair demons spotted here, and rage demons wouldn’t be able to handle the water.

Iron Bull wades out into the water, leaving his boots and brace on shore. The water’s up to his knees by the time he looks back at me, my head lowered as I stare at the water in front of me. “C’mon, Cyrn, we’re dealing with this one now.”

I can feel the others’ eyes on me. “Right behind you,” I say, taking a step forward, and then another, and then another, and then my feet are in the water. I shiver, tense as a bowstring.

Bull cocks his head at me, concern showing in his eye, but I shake my head and he turns forward again.

The water splashes behind me and my body jerks lightly, but I know it’s just Cassandra. I keep pushing myself forward, not once stopping, and I can’t stop my shaking. I grind my teeth together hard enough that my jaw aches.

I can do this. There’s water up to my knees and it’s going to keep getting higher and higher but that’s okay, I can deal with this. I just have to close the rift, that’s all. Easy.

My body moves mechanically, almost as if it’s separate from my mind, movements jerky and far too rough for a hunter like me. But that’s okay, it’ll be over in a few minutes, won’t it? A quick battle, and—

Something brushes over my foot and I snap.

I’m running across the shore again in seconds, clumps of sand sticking to my feet and ankles, but I don’t care. I can hear things, but nothing makes sense except the blood in my ears and my shallow breathing, and I run into the forest before me, tripping over my own feet in my rush to get away. The world is a blur before my eyes as I stumble about, but I don’t feel anything except the water and the _thing_ that touched my foot.

Eventually I fall after tripping over something, but I’m still not away from it, not away from the water. I strip my pants off quickly, flinging them away from me, and I sit with my back against a tree.

Something tells me I’m breathing too quickly, but I push that thought aside. I pull out a cloth from one of my coat pockets to dry my legs, rubbing furiously until they turn pink; they’re wet up to just above the knees, but the water has to go, all of it has to dry. I can’t touch it. It can’t touch me. It’s not safe.

A hazy thought enters my mind: How much time has passed since I ran?

My legs are dry but I can still feel the water. The _thing_.

I pull out a small knife, hands shaking violently, and I start to slice. My thighs, where it’s normal, and then my lower legs, where I can still feel it. The cuts don’t hurt, but they feel, and I let out a hiss at that. I stop thinking.

I don’t know when I stop, but I do, and my legs are a mess. They burn like fire, blood spilling out, but it isn’t water. It’s different.

I don’t feel the water anymore.

I’m made aware of the indents in my back from the sheathed daggers as I shift myself. I sniff loudly—oh. I was crying.

It’s warm here, and I can see the soft rays of the late afternoon sunlight shifting in front of me, falling through the leaves. It’s not as hot as some places in the fall, being in the South and next to the mountains. This could be a nice place for a picnic. I haven’t had a picnic since the Conclave.

Does Bull like picnics? I’ll have to ask.

_Bull._

He should have found me by now, right?

I squint at the trees around me, searching for any sign of him or anyone else, but I don’t see any. I ran off without thinking—they should be able to find me just fine, shouldn’t they?

But I’m a Dalish hunter. I’ve run off hurriedly from other situations and still evaded pursuit. Maybe it’s just my skills.

Or maybe the demons came out and I left them all to deal with them. Or they watched me run like a coward and didn’t bother to chase me down. Either way they must hate me.

Water. Who the fuck is afraid of water? The useless, knife-eared Herald of Andraste, that’s who.

A warm breeze blows by and grass tickles my sandy feet. Yeah, this would be a really nice spot for a picnic.

Heavy footsteps sound to my left and through the trees I can see my companions in the distance. I lift up an arm to wave so that they can see me, idly noticing that my hand is bleeding too. Not much, no more than a few flecks of blood, but it doesn’t hurt.

My legs tingle with warmth, no longer burning. The feeling is actually quite pleasant. I’m aware enough now to know that moving them will hurt, though.

Just one set of footsteps now. Bull comes up beside me and kneels down. He spares a glance for my pants not far off and the way he looks at me makes my heart ache.

He’s the Iron Bull. He’s not supposed to show his hurt. That’s not what he does.

“Kadan,” he says. He reaches out to cup my tearstained cheek. His voice is gentle but does not waver.

He asks a question. I don’t really understand what he’s saying, but he’s hurt and I hurt him and I betrayed him, so I nod.

He looks at me expectantly and asks the question again.

I nod, stronger this time, and he accepts that. He raises a hand and gestures.

I’m anxious again when I see Dorian, but Bull lets me grip his hand tightly with both of mine while the mage heals my legs with magic. The flesh knitting back together itches like hell, and flinching in response hurts just as bad, so I grip tighter.

I’m half-naked, bleeding, and whimpering in front of both of them and my cheeks heat with shame.

After what seems like an hour Dorian’s magic fades from his hands. He pulls the pack from his back and pulls out a pair of cloth pants and a cloth belt, folding them neatly beside me and Bull, and places a small box on top.

Bull says something to him and he nods, standing to gather my wet pants. He leaves.

His eyes had pity in them and I hate that.

Bull asks another question but I still can’t understand it. I try to say something, but I don’t know how, and all that comes out is another whimper.

He murmurs something to me before leaning to kiss my forehead. Then he begins to sew the wounds that Dorian couldn’t get to. The needle stings, but I am used to it. It should be fine, but I cry and I manage to say _katoh_. Then he spreads a salve on the sealed cuts before starting again.

I didn’t realize I had cuts on my feet as well. Must have been from running.

Bull’s face is flat, emotionless. The hurt that was in his eye earlier is gone, hidden behind a wall.

* * *

 

Blearily I blink my eyes open to see Iron Bull lying beside me inside our tent. I grin.

Yesterday was exhausting. Not that I can really remember what happened—it’s all a bit of a blur right now—but my body feels limp. My legs itch as well, but I ignore that.

“Vhenan,” I sigh, and his eye opens immediately.

I frown. Usually he’s not worried enough to sleep so lightly. We’ve got people on watch at all of the Inquisition camps, so there’s no need for it.

He pushes himself into a sitting position so that he can face me without his horns getting in the way, blanket falling down his chest to pool in his lap. He looks down at me with concern.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, rolling onto my side.

Oh. Oh shit. That was a bad decision.

I bring my forearm up to my mouth, biting into it to keep from shouting. It’s a learned habit—if I bite my hand I could damage it, and the scars on my arm are thick enough that I can’t pierce the skin with my teeth. I shift a moment so that the skin on my legs stops pulling itself apart. Once I’ve adjusted, I stretch my right arm out towards Bull, relaxing my position. He places his left hand on mine; his hand would engulf mine were it not for the missing fingertips.

“We’re not doing anything today, kadan,” he says. “The others will handle the demons for today.”

I’d like to argue about that, but I fucked up my body a bit too much yesterday. Now that I’m waking up, I can remember what happened, and I grimace at the memories.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

I don’t think there is, so all I do is make a vague noise in response.

“If I bring you food, will you eat it?”

No. I don’t think I can. My stomach is already tying itself into anxious knots again.

He sees something that works as a response, I guess, or takes my lack of one as an answer, and he nods.

“What time is it?” I ask. My voice is quiet and meek.

“Afternoon. You’ve been out almost a full day. Woke up a bit earlier when I changed your bandages and rinsed your legs, but otherwise you’ve slept pretty soundly.” He looks at me tenderly, lovingly; without pity. “How awake are you now?”

“Not gonna fall back asleep right away.” I yawn loudly and scowl at my body’s betrayal. “That’s not a lie, I really am awake.”

He chuckles. “Good. How much can you move about right now in this tent?”

I shrug, which in hindsight is not a very clear movement when lying on my side. “Plenty, if I’m careful.” I could even walk if I tried, but I don’t say that. Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra would probably run back from whatever they’re doing to push me back into the tent if I tried any of that.

“I’m going to help you sit up and take a health potion, is that alright?” I nod and make a face. Those things taste awful.

He scoots over to me, helping lift me up slowly until I’m sitting between his legs, leaning comfortably with my bare back against his chest. He reaches to his side and picks up a small red bottle, uncorking it and handing it to me.

I grunt my thanks and down it quickly, almost coughing it right back up, but I manage to keep it down. He takes the vial from me and replaces it with a waterskin, which I sip from until the bitter taste dulls again.

He takes the waterskin back and I frown at my left hand in confusion.

“You bit yourself,” he explains. “Before we tracked you down. Not a lot of blood, but the bruise will probably hurt for a bit.”

“Lovely.”

He kisses me on top of my head. “So. Question time.”

“How about you whack me with a stick instead?” I grumble. I start to feel a dull ache in my stomach.

“Because that’s not going to get the rift closed.”

“Rift doesn’t need closing,” I say without thinking.

“Whatever happened back there hurt you, kadan. You scared all of us—we don’t know what spooked you, but you had us worried. I had to give Cassandra something to do just so she would stop chewing her nails down.” He rubs a hand soothingly along one of my scarred arms. “You’re afraid of something, I get that much. Drowning? Sharks?”

“Let’s not have this conversation and say we did.”

I can feel him shake his head behind me. “It’s okay to be afraid. I had my share of panic back in Seheron, you know. Even over things that seemed silly. At some point the bad shit would stop fazing me while the little things got to me.”

“But that was a war.” It doesn’t seem fair to compare the two.

“And this isn’t?”

“My… this isn’t.” I’ve had this fear for years; it never came from any trauma. It just happened.

“We can’t help you if you keep bottling it up. We can’t close the rift and we can’t keep this from happening again.” He stops stroking my arm and hugs me. It’s nice. Comforting. “I’m not going to pretend I can protect you from everything, even though I’d like to. You’re strong. You can deal with a lot of shit and you don’t need me disrespecting you like that. But this? You didn’t even panic like that in the Fade. If I can protect you from this, or help you with it, whatever it is, then I will.”

“Going soft on me now, are you?” I tease. I lift my bruised hand to rest on one of his forearms across my torso.

“Only for you,” he says, kissing my head again.

“ _The Satin Bull_ does have a nice ring to it. Or maybe _the Silk Bull_?”

“Depends, which would you like to be tied up with?”

A breathless laugh escapes me, followed by a quick gasp as it causes a sharp pain in my legs. “Only the finest Orlesian silk, after all this.”

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Finally, a decent use for your Inquisition pay.”

The tent feels warm and safe, like we’re in our own little haven here, set apart from the rest of the world. Like there aren’t any rifts or demons or red templars in existence. Just the two of us, sitting here together with small smiles on our faces.

And my growling stomach. But we ignore that.

I shift, slowly, and it makes my legs ache again but my position becomes more comfortable. “It’s…” I start, not able to find the words yet but wanting Bull to know that I’m trying to tell him.

We sit like that for a couple minutes. I can smell food out in the camp and hear people moving. Probably some of the soldiers keeping the area safe.

Maybe a simple approach might be best. “Water.”

“You’re afraid of water?” He doesn’t sound surprised; he’s just trying to sort out what I’m saying, I think.

“Yeah.”

“You’re okay with rain?”

I nod.

“Baths?”

I stiffen against him and he hugs me tighter, calming me down before I can overthink this.

“No baths,” he says. “So you always wash yourself by dipping cloths in water?”

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I don’t. But it’s bearable. Not like…”

Not like the lake yesterday. I curl up, my legs coming up to my chest, and he lets go of his embrace so I can wrap my arms around my legs. It hurts and the skin feels stiff, but that’s fine. Better to think about the pain than that.

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not,” he says. I don’t argue. He’s being serious, too serious today. He cares for me more than he should. “How do you feel about boats?”

I ponder this. On one hand, it means more water. On the other, I don’t have to touch it, just have to be surrounded by it, ready to fall in at any time—

He puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I say. If that’s what I have to do to close the rift, I can do that.

He squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll go smoothly, alright?”

I nod again. He’s going to be there, so of course it will.

“The scouts have some stew on the fire outside. I know you don’t want to eat, but could you try drinking the liquid?”

I don’t want to, but I know that I’m already eating a dangerously low amount of food lately and feeling lightheaded more often than not. I shouldn’t let this get any worse.

“I can try.”

He moves out from behind me and pulls me into a kiss before leaving the tent.

* * *

 

The rowboat rocks beneath me, a safe distance away from the rift, and I’m shaking like a leaf.

It’s been four days since I ran off. My legs still hurt when I move them, but that’s more from the pressure of my pants than anything else, and the itching is the worst part. If I give in and scratch them they might bleed again.

I barely even notice the demons in the water. It turns out they’re frighteningly proficient at underwater fighting, and there’s small trails of blood from the hits they’ve landed on Bull. I should be out there, helping him, but I can’t.

I look down into the water beside me and it’s too murky to see the bottom. I swallow and stare at the bottom of the boat instead.

Deep breaths, Cyrnarel. Deep breaths.

I hear splashes and I look up, breath caught in my throat.

Bull is swimming towards me, sword sheathed on his back. It was easier to fight in water with that instead of his greataxe.

The boat dips as he climbs in and I almost panic, but a moment later he’s murmuring to me and rowing the boat towards the rift. “The demons are dead,” he says.

We’re a few feet away from the crackling rift and I feel the familiar ache in my marked hand, made worse by the bruise. I take a breath to steady myself and reach forward, making the link to the rift.

I can do this. I’m doing this. It’s going to be over and we can—

Something slices into my right wrist and the boat tips over.

There’s water on my face, on my body, all over me, and something has me by my right hand, dragging me down.

I can’t tell which way is up. I don’t understand the light. The water stings my eyes and I see something green and slender jab sharply into my shoulder.

A terror demon’s claws.

My mark is flickering wildly from the proximity to the rift but I don’t care. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I don’t know where to go. I can’t move.

There’s blood in front of me. Or something else red, but I can’t tell.

I need air.

I need to get away from this water. I need to reach the surface. I don’t know what’s going on. I have to get out.

I can’t hear anything.

I choke on the water and breathe it into my lungs. It’s in my lungs and my mouth and my stomach and it is sickening and _I can’t move_.

Something grabs me from behind and I kick. I don’t hit anything. It needs to let me go I can’t do this let me go let me—

My head surfaces above the water.

I gasp for air but don’t get any. All I do is cough, choking on the lake water, retching into the lake. Something shoves me back on the boat and I can only lay there.

More splashing beside the boat as I try to breathe. I can’t. There’s water everywhere: On me, beside me, in my clothes, around the boat…

The boat dips and I try to scream but I can’t.

A giant shape looms above me, blood and water dripping down, and I’m shaking as he pumps my chest.

I cough up water and I can breathe again.

Bull lifts me up, pulling my back to his chest and scraping my legs painfully against the boat. He holds my left hand and shoves it towards the rift.

This time it closes. I barely register that. I’m too busy trying to bite him.

He needs to let me go. He won’t. I try to get away but he holds me to him with one arm, the other paddling us back to shore.

We’re on solid ground again and I try to run but he pulls me to his chest. We’re sitting on the grass and he’s holding me and won’t let go.

I push him away from me and this time he lets me and I tear off my leather coat and shirt. I curl up on my side in front of him, topless, sobbing into the grass and shaking, hands gripping and pulling at my hair.

I pull out a couple clumps when my hands can get a grip.

Bull murmurs to me and runs a hand down my arm. My sobs turn to wails and it’s hard to catch my breath.

I don’t know how long this goes on for but it feels like hours before I’m coherent again.

My body calms and I lie drained on the grass, shaking and shivering. My lungs hurt. My stomach hurts. My throat and scalp feel raw.

I bite my forearm hard enough to bruise, but Bull gently pulls it away from my mouth. I feel too empty to protest.

I want to disappear. I want to forget about this Herald bullshit and this water and everything that’s happened since I came south.

Except the Iron Bull. He’s hugging me now and I’m sitting, I think. I feel as frail and weightless as a cloud.

I blink and Dorian appears in front of me. He rubs me down with the fluffiest, softest towel I’ve ever felt. I don’t react to that, but I make a sound when he pulls away. He comes back a minute later with a silk shirt, which Bull slips over my head, and another towel, which Bull wraps around me as he hugs me tightly.

I don’t really notice anything that happens for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

“Cyrnarel,” I hear a voice call from behind me. “It is good to see you again.”

Cassandra walks into view and looks at me questioningly. I nod and she sits on the bench beside me, on the edge of the Skyhold gardens.

It’s not very busy here at dawn and Skyhold is unusually warm for the mountains, so I’m wearing a short-sleeved shirt. I don’t care if people see my arms, but Josephine worries about the sensibilities of human nobles. Cassandra doesn’t mind, I know, but her eyes run down my arms with concern, bright red lines from earlier this week easily visible.

“How are you doing?” she asks gently.

I shrug halfheartedly, staring at the ground.

I haven’t spoken to anyone but Bull since getting back. I’ve barely even left my quarters. We spent half a week riding back to Skyhold from Lake Calenhad and we’ve been back only a week. It’s all passed by in a blur to me.

Bull stayed with me when he wasn’t helping take care of my duties. A few times Varric even came by to sit on my couch and tell tales. I don’t think I responded, lying in my bed as I was, but he didn’t mind, chattering on about dragons and pirates while I just blinked at him. Dorian stopped by at one point too, apologizing for what he felt was his part in pushing me to close the rift. He left behind the softest (and probably most expensive) blanket I’ve ever felt, hallas and trees embroidered into the edges.

All of them feel guilty about that, I can tell. Especially Bull. “I’m the one who convinced you to go out there,” he said. “I didn’t make sure that all the demons were gone.”

It’s none of their faults, but arguing won’t do any of us good. Time and gentle reassurance, maybe. That’s how it usually works.

Funny that they’re trying to take care of me but I in turn take care of their guilt.

Cassandra shifts beside me, clearing her throat. “I’m not very good at… helping people,” she manages out. “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

I nod, still looking at the ground. I can’t really come up with the words to respond to her.

“I had something brought in from Nevarra.”

I look over at her and notice she’s holding a small hexagonal paper box in her hands.

“It’s some of those sweets you liked at the Orlesian balls we’ve been to—without the hassle of nobles,” she said. She holds the box out to me and I take it in my hands. “Those sweet jelly cubes with nuts inside and powdered sugar all over them. I thought you might like some.”

She rubs the back of her neck nervously and I run my thumb over the simple design on the box. She’s never been one for words, and this is probably her way of saying “get well soon.”

She stands, clearing her throat again. “I have some things to do, but if you need me, I’ll be around.”

“Thanks,” I say as she turns, and I could swear I see a smile on her face.

* * *

 

A week later I find out that Iron Bull does, in fact, like picnics.

We’re heading out to Orlais, this time, to meet with some important noble in Val Royeaux. Or something like that. I figure I could probably manage to speak with them for an hour or so. Better than going back to the Hinterlands, at least. I still get shaky when I so much as think about Redcliffe now.

The world around me feels more real lately, less distant, and I’m glad for that. Makes it easier to understand what people are saying and talk to them as well.

I don’t recall ever mentioning picnics to Bull though, so when he pulls me away while everyone else stops for lunch I’m surprised. He even has a basket and a blanket to lay down.

“What’s this about?” I ask, sitting next to him. He pulls food and a couple plates out of the basket, setting them up neatly before us.

“What if I called it a date?”

“I might start to complain about the lack of rope,” I say with a grin.

He snorts. “Can’t go wearing you out all the time.”

I start picking at the dried fruit while he continues to set up the rest of the food. “Really though,” I say after a couple of pieces, “you don’t do things spontaneously. How long have you had this planned?”

“Since I heard you muttering to yourself about picnics a couple weeks ago.”

“I didn’t say shit about that.”

“You weren’t exactly in the soundest state of mind, Cyrn.”

Oh. He’s talking about that day.

“So I mention a picnic and suddenly you decide to set one up?” I ask, moving away from that topic quickly. I’m still not ready to talk about it, still sensitive about the experience.

“Seemed like a good idea.” He heaps his plate generously with food. There’s fruits and vegetables, typical meats and breads, and some fancy cheeses and little cakes from Orlais. “Besides, you could use a break from everything, after the month you’ve had. You’re still healing from everything—your mind and your body. You need to relax more.”

“And what about you?” He’s been busy as a bee trying to add some of my work on top of his own.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss my lips. “Right now, kadan,” he says, stroking my chin with his thumb, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your side.”

I smile and he looks like he’s just seen the stars for the first time.

“That’s what this picnic is for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cyrnarel uses he/they pronouns, if you reference him in your comments.
> 
> (I have aquaphobia myself. Yes it's real and yes it sucks.)


End file.
